


Cold Static

by Daydreaminganewworld



Category: Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: Angst, Depression, Family Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mental Health Issues, catatonic state
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:42:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27146087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daydreaminganewworld/pseuds/Daydreaminganewworld
Summary: Beetlejuice is typically a very loud, energetic, boisterous demon. What could possibly ever make that change?
Relationships: Beetlejuice & Adam Maitland & Barbara Maitland, Beetlejuice & Charles Deetz, Beetlejuice & Charles Deetz & Delia Deetz & Lydia Deetz & Adam Maitland & Barbara Maitland, Beetlejuice & Delia Deetz, Beetlejuice & Lydia Deetz
Comments: 10
Kudos: 93





	Cold Static

He should’ve been able to recognize the signs of this by now, yet every time it happened, it caught him by surprised. Once again, he’s woken up to find himself trapped in static. Well, not trapped realistically, but he certainly couldn't move. Static is clogging up his thoughts and blocking his body. He tries to urge himself to move, but his body just doesn’t respond. All he can do is stare at the wall, his thoughts moving slower than that wave of molasses that fucked up Boston. He can barely even remember where he is. He needs to get up, though. He has to, someone was going to come, and he’ll be in trouble when they find him, he’ll get hurt, worse than the dull ache wrapped over his body right now.  
Footsteps. It took a minute for his brain to comprehend, but he realized footsteps were coming to his door. ‘Move. Move, you worthless sack of ectoplasm,’ his thoughts hissed to him.  
The jiggle of the door handle, the creaking of the door as it opened, he braced himself...  
“Lawrence?”  
That voice, it was deep, rumbled through the room with clarity. It wasn’t high pitched and screeching, tinged harshly from a sliced open throat coated internally with tar. Footsteps padded across the carpet, the blanket was pulled away gently, rather than ripped off. The question ‘Why is your hair purple?’ never came, and was instead “Lawrence, are you alright?” The deep voice was stilted, uncertain. Unused to this.  
He couldn’t answer back. The energy to voice his thoughts was just out of reach. But he needed to answer, he was going to be hurt. But... how? How does he even answer? Does he tell the truth, or lie? He needed to say something, the screaming was going to start, he was-  
Warm. A hand was pressing against his forehead. What was it doing? He’s dead, you can’t check his temperature.  
“Charles? What’s going on?” A high voice was approaching, but it was soft, floating through the air, still not the screeching one.  
“He’s… he’s not responding to anything, Delia.” Concern hung thick in the deep voice.  
More footsteps, there was someone on the other side of the bed now. “Lawrence? What’s the matter, hun?”  
He needed to answer. They should know. But his voice… he couldn’t reach it. He couldn’t even see, his brain just wasn’t registering what his eyes were telling it.  
“His hair is black, what does that mean?” The deep voice asked much more quietly now, it was no longer directed to him. God, why couldn’t his hair stop changing? It always got him in trouble…  
“I think... maybe it means that he’s not feeling mentally ok. That he’s having a bad day,” the high voice sounded so concerned now. He should reassure them. He’d be fine, at least, he thinks he will be.  
“What should we do? I know what to do for Lydia, but I don’t… he looks so sick, I-“ the deep voice was starting to panic.  
“Charles, Charles. It’s ok. He just needs time, I bet. Go tell Lydia, Barb and Adam that he’s not ok right now. I’ll stay here,” the high voice was comforting and careful.  
“Ok. Ok. I can do that. I… I’ll be back, Lawrence.”  
‘I know’ he thinks. ‘You shouldn’t be, but I know.’  
Footsteps leaving, gone. The bed dipped behind him. “Oh Lawrence,” the high voice sighed sadly. Something was hovering above his head, hesitant, fluttering, but then… oh.  
A hand, soft, gentle, warm, was combing through his hair. Pulling through the strands deftly, untangling them, pulling them from the mess his sleeping made it. How long has it been since someone touched him so gently like that? He had no real answer.  
“There’s that green… you know, I much prefer the green, I think Lydia works the black better,” the voice joked. “But... it’s ok to be other colors too, you know. You do know that right? Purple, blue, white, red, it’s all just as important as green. Just as long as you’re feeling, you know? It’s a little scary seeing it black,” the voice rambled. A hand was stroking his face too, while the first massaging his scalp, running through his now more straightened out hair. “What can you do though? Brains are so complex and delicate, you can’t control it at all. We’ll wait until it’s green again. Through all the other colors of the rainbow, we’ll wait until your hair is green again, hun.”  
He finally could close his eyes. The pounding, aching of his chest was subsiding. His eyelids were so heavy… his mind was drifting… he was barely aware of the noises around him. More voices, more footsteps, the door creaking and moving, possibly a window was opened and letting in… was that a breeze?  
Something warm and vibrating coiled around his head, he felt watched after, safe, no one was going to hurt him, definitely not now.  
That... wasn’t his thoughts. Something else must’ve thought that, but he could hear it in his mind, feel it in the defensive tightening of the warm coils around him. 

Time was nonexistent, the only thing he was aware of was warmth. It anchored him to his body. Was he really this cold all the time without all this warmth?  
Slowly, slowly, he was re-emerging from his drifting half asleep state. The warm, black and white coil around his head was still there, darting their tongue out occasionally to taste the air.  
The bed sagged on both sides of him. People, two of them, were here with him. They were speaking, he struggled to make his ears work again. They both had a hand in his hair, petting it, running their fingers through to his scalp, soothing, and pleasant.  
Someone was reading, their voice deeper, but not as deep as the first. Someone with a higher voice would chip in sometimes on the book they were reading. They were just laying in bed at his sides, reading a book. He should despise this domestication, it should be the worst thing he’d ever been through, but right now… the calm voices soothed him as much as the petting hands. He had no idea what the book was about, but apparently the protagonist was a spitfire little thing, reminding him a little of Lydia. She was a bit chipper to be Lydia though.  
Oh. That’s better. He could remember names again. He opened his eyes, stared at Sandy purring away around his shoulders. He was grateful, even if that feeling was layered under thousands of pounds of wooly static. He looked up to see Adam had his ridiculous little glasses on, and Barbara had her hair tied up. They were impossibly hot.  
It seemed the breakthrough exhausted him once more. He settled further into the bed with a content sigh, letting himself drift into sleep once more. 

Some time passed, until he heard his door open. Footsteps padded in, and he pushed his consciousness into action, focusing his sight on who had entered. There was still a house size sandworm weight on his head, reassuring him that he wasn’t alone.  
Lydia set something on the nightstand, her eyebrows knit together as she turned to face him, placing her hands on her hips. “I can’t do anything else, so I’m gonna paint your nails. If you don’t want me to, then blink now.” For a moment they stared at each other, and one could hear a pin drop in that moment, then Lydia broke the spell with a nod, satisfied by his answer. “Ok.”  
She picked up what he realized was nail polish off the nightstand, and Lydia clambered onto the bed with him, precariously balancing on the edge. She was too stubborn to move somewhere more stable. Instead she moved his hands to her lap and with a precision akin more to a laser, she began to paint long strokes of dark teal onto his nail, careful to avoid the skin his nails were embedded in.  
Slowly, a calm infiltrated the air. Lydia’s shoulders eased, the tension leaving her body as she focused on painting his nails. Her brow unfurrowed, and she looked more at peace. “It’s weird having you so quiet,” she eventually murmured. She shifted so minutely he could’ve just imagined it. “And still… you’re like an actual corpse now.”  
Lydia stiffened, her eyes growing distant. Sandy let out a chirrup, nosing her head into Lydia’s hand, smudging the polish brush. “Hey, I was working on that,” Lydia started, scolding the sandworm as she focused on cleaning up his nails.  
He was grateful for Sandy once more. He couldn’t really do much to reassure Lydia at the moment, especially when he felt like a corpse. All he could do was hold on, until the static faded away. When he was himself again, he could cheer Lydia up properly. When he was himself again...

It was dark. He’d forgotten about light. Was he alone? No, there was a small warmth at his back, curled up into a ball, snoring lightly, and a warmth at his front.  
He looked up and saw Sandy staring down at him quietly. She chittered softly. Slowly, shakingly, he pulled his arm up, and with trembling fingers, ran them down her back. Sandy closed her eyes briefly, enjoying the pet, before stretching her head forward. She bonked it against his forehead, humming loudly. He appreciated the gesture, but no sandworm magic could clear out the static in his mind weighing him down at the moment.  
Adam was next to him, deep asleep, mouth partially agape and drooling. Yes definitely the world’s handsomest man right there. Eat your heart out, Zac Efron. He glanced over his shoulder to see Barbara and a familiar lump behind him. Did Lydia even go to school today? He wasn’t sure.  
Great, Lydia may have skipped a day and they didn’t even do anything fun. What a useless waste he was. Why did this have to happen? Why couldn’t he just be the fun, manic ball of energy everyone knew all the time? Why was he so weak, to just fall into these ruts so easily? It wasn’t that long ago he’d had one of these episodes before.  
Why can’t you do anything right? Why do you have to screw everything up? Why are you so weak?  
“Beej?” Lydia’s slurred voice cut through his thoughts. Her hand touched his shoulder, and he realized then that he’d been trembling. Sandy was humming incessantly at him, trying desperately to pull him from his thoughts.  
“You ok, Beej?” Lydia asked. She sounded so tired. God, he can’t even let people be when he could barely even move. They were going to get mad at him, he needed to stop-  
Sandy let out a hiss, and Lydia squeezed his shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay, Beej.” She patted his arm, regaining his attention. “I’m here. I won’t leave you, okay? You’re not alone,” she promised.  
His chest started to ease. She didn’t sound annoyed, only worried, probably too tired to hide that concern away at the moment. Or maybe she wanted him to know that she cared…  
“Lydia?” That was Adam, always the quicker one to wake up.  
“Beej is shaking,” immediately came Lydia’s response.  
He felt a familiar callused hand stroke his face. Sandy rubbed against Adam’s arm with a sad titter. His eyes shamefully looked up to the two, no, three now, Barbara woke up too.  
“Is it ok to touch you, Lawrence?” Barbara asked.  
Barely, he was able to nod his head.  
Carefully Adam moved his head to the ghosts’ laps, and they both carefully ran cool fingers through the white and purple locks, just like earlier. Sandy curled behind them on the headboard, looking pleased.  
Lydia slumped onto him like a living weighted blanket, her body warmer than Adam’s and Barbara’s. She grabbed one of his hands and squeezed it. He could feel her heart beating, pumping blood through her body at a constant rhythm.  
How did this work? Somehow, they managed to get his panic to calm. Maybe Lydia was a witch, and the Maitlands her newest disciples.  
“That’s better,” Barbara hummed, smiling.  
“Much better,” Adam agreed, leaning his head onto her shoulder. They both seemed to be falling asleep again.  
Lydia waited a moment, then quietly spoke. “When you feel better, let’s go steal a shopping cart again, ride it around town.” She chuckled, “That was fun.”  
Slowly, he gathered enough energy to squeeze her hand back in affirmation. Lydia smiled sleepily. “G’night, Beej,” she yawned, resting her head on her arm. She was probably gonna regret the awkward positioning tomorrow, and the Maitlands would get cricks in their necks and sore backs. They wouldn’t care though.  
Slowly he fell back asleep. 

Time marched on around him. He thought he might’ve heard Lydia arguing that she should stay, make sure he’s ok, but Delia somehow managed to get her to go to school. Then it was quiet for a while.  
And slowly… slowly….  
Beetlejuice was able to see. The gray tinted morning light filtered onto the wall before him, he could hear the others moving around downstairs, talking quietly. Sandy hissed a greeting to him. A page turned. Beetlejuice looked up to see Charles sitting in a chair next to a window, reading something. He was enthralled with it, not having noticed Beetlejuice sitting up yet.  
He looked at the book jacket on Charles’ book curiously. “The Birds of America? Didn’t take you for such a bird nerd, Chuck,” Beetlejuice finally spoke, his voice sounding worse than a rusting gate from disuse, making even him wince.  
Charles started, staring at the demon like a deer caught in headlights for a moment, before kicking into gear. “Lawrence, oh thank god! You had us worried,” Charles moved to the bed, and stood a little awkwardly before placing a hand on Beetlejuice’s shoulder, Sandy quickly scooting her coils out of the way. “How do you feel?” He asked, coughing awkwardly.  
Beetlejuice swallowed thickly, and shrugged the shoulder not currently under Charles’ hand. “Like shit. But I always feel like shit. This time I feel like shit that’s been pounded to next year, I guess. Heh, sorry, must’ve been pretty quiet with me being so lazy and staying in bed so long,” he drawled, trying to lighten up the mood.  
Charles’ brow furrowed and he sat down on the edge of the bed, hand still on Beetlejuice’s shoulder. “Does this… has this ever happened before?” He asked.  
“...Yeah. Once in a while, I guess. I just… kind of lose touch with everything? Ma would get pissed, she hated how lazy I would get. But no matter what I did, no matter how much she screamed, I just couldn’t… get up,” Beetlejuice sighed.  
Charles’ eyes flashed with anger, and Sandy let out a deep growl. “Lawrence, this wasn’t laziness, you-you could barely respond to anything. Your hair was black, and you,” Charles took a shaky breath, suddenly looking afraid. “You were fading away. I could see through you, Christ.” Charles raked a hand through his hair.  
Beetlejuice felt his stomach clench. “Sorry Charles,” he murmured, looking away. He was still unused to people caring about him. Sandy tickled his cheek with her hissing tongue in reassurance.  
“No need to apologize, it is not your fault. I’m just glad you're doing better now.” Charles smiled, tired, but relieved.  
Beetlejuice was still so unused to this. People caring and being nice to him. It made his insides wriggle and squirm like they were replaced with eels and baby Sandworms. “Well you won’t be for long. Soon I’ll be setting shit on fire, eating all the food and things you guys don’t consider food, and making mayhem. You’ll be wishing for another day off like today!” Beetlejuice crowed, trying to break up the gooey feelings. Sandy hissed unimpressed at his attempt.  
Charles shook his head and did something no one thought was even possible, shocking even Sandy. He pulled Beetlejuice into a hug. “It isn’t even possible for that to make the wishlist,” Charles said.  
“Fucks sake, Chuck, I’m trying to stop the warm fuzzies,” Beetlejuice’s voice cracked, but Charles felt the demon cling onto him like a child.  
“Well too bad. There’s more in store in fact, Delia, Barb and Adam need to know you’re feeling better, and you need to eat something,” Charles replied, standing up.  
“Ugh, fine. You people are so bossy,” Beetlejuice huffed.  
He planted his feet firmly on the ground and wobbled up, refusing Charles’ help, taking careful steps forward as his body readjusted to walking again.  
As they made their way downstairs, Beetlejuice felt ease. When he was basically tackled by Barbara and Adam, he felt safe. When Delia squished his cheeks and smiled so relieved and tearfully before kissing his forehead, he felt warm. When Lydia got back from school and basically hugged him for ten minutes straight, he forgot what that numb static even felt like.  
He still felt off, and his mind was still heavy with dark, confusing thoughts but, it was okay. It was okay that he wasn’t okay. He didn’t have to worry if he had another of these days again. They’d still be here waiting for him.

**Author's Note:**

> HI. I’ve been sitting on this one for a while. And I’ve been working. So. Much. Working. It’s completely grounded chapter updates for ibbp to a halt and I’m so sorry about that. I’ll try and keep chipping at it, but expect sporadic updates aha...  
> Anyways! This one was a random thought and I just kept tinkering with it, but now it’s here! To be judged, and viewed! Horrifying. If you wanna hit me up, my ask box is always open on my tumblr [@daydreaming-jessi](https://daydreaming-jessi.tumblr.com/)


End file.
